


please don't leave me

by norvina



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Future Fic, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Major Character Undeath, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Thanos is an asshole, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norvina/pseuds/norvina
Summary: The Universe is getting shifty.Carol Danvers partners up with Yon-Rogg for a rescue mission, only to realize time doesn't heal everything. Thanos being a general a-hole kinda puts a damper on the moment, though.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	1. the demons we're made of

Station 97-K was the epitome of hedonism, yet her source had requested the self-indulgent hunk of metal as their meeting place against her better judgment. Truthfully, she never responds to anonymous and decidedly vague pleas because of the calculated risk involved. Carol already considered the fact that she could be walking into a trap. It wouldn’t be the first time since she started carrying the moniker of Captain Marvel. There was always someone bold (or stupid) enough to test her limits. Naturally, Station 97-K had all the makings of a half-wit setup, as did the request for her aid. It was a digital transmission with a location (a poor one), a time (an odd one), and a mission (an irrefusable one).

The topic was enslaved children.

As much as it feels like an outright con, she can't afford to dismiss the concept entirely.

Carol steps into a place that she could ambiguously call a bar. It’s unorganized and smells like moldy hotdog water, but there are many patrons sipping on alcoholic beverages from other planets, speaking in low voices in fear of being overheard by someone like her. Frankly, she still feels incredibly overdressed in her tight faded jeans and long-sleeved navy Henley. Something crunches beneath her worn cowboy boots but out of self-preservation, she decides not to look down. As she cuts through the most-likely deranged (or at least extremely desperate) crowd of bar-goers, she sees _him_ settled in the back booth.

It’s enough to give her pause, if not for the briefest of moments. 

Yon-Rogg, her former Commander and beloved mentor, raises his head as if he can feel her gaze _and has the sheer audacity to smile at her_. It’s a subtle curve of his lips but it might as well be a full-fledged grin considering his stance on emotions. Carol masks her utter shock fairly well behind layers of disdain and distrust and painful memories. She really should turn on her heels and forget this dingy little place but the pure relief in his gilded eyes makes her reconsider.

The fact that she still _knows_ him makes her want to scream like a child. She wishes she could forget the beautiful (tainted) language he carefully taught her, and she certainly doesn’t mean Kree. As Carol approaches him, she firmly bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood— _his blood_. The reminder coils in the back of her mind along with everything else that she’s left unspoken for over two decades. 

Naturally, she knew that Yon-Rogg was no longer a member of Starforce from a few unwilling sources and one drunken database hack (Xandar had some pretty good _spirits,_ okay? _)_. Yeah, she checked up on him from time-to-time—it was the smart thing to do considering their past. The Kree may have switched position on Xandar politics, barring Ronan’s semi-rouge actions, but she knew that she ranked highly on their public enemy list.

The idea that Yon-Rogg, the devout patriot of Hala, had completely disowned his strong beliefs disenchants her. Yon-Rogg worked in the private sector as a mercenary for hire these days, never once wasting his years of military training. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t crossing any worrisome lines. Carol knew that his exceptional skillset would be considered valuable to certain employers. In the beginning, she paid close attention to his allegiances (privately, of course) but over the last few months, he’s fallen off her grid due to the amount of distress within the galaxy. The universe seems to be as problematic as ever and she hasn’t had much free time on her hands to monitor him.

Okay, stalk him. She's been stalking him. 

Carol slides into the seat opposite of him with a determined look in her eyes, “I’m assuming you sent the transmission.”

“I did.” He admits with a sigh, most likely expecting some type of backlash. It’s been roughly twenty-three years since they last saw one another on Earth. While Maria had appreciated her flare for dramatics when she recounted blasting Yon-Rogg during their last encounter, Carol had a different memory of the events. He had been her best friend, her mentor, her someone, her person…he was everything to her, and then they just ended? Anger gave her the comfort she needed for a while, but time had displaced that supernova rage with confusion and what-ifs and _hurt._ He says, “I expected to be rejected.” 

“If I had known that it was you…” Carol starts, but her threat dies in her mouth as she realizes it’s all a lie. Carefully, she bites back her emotions once more. He would only get pleasure from her vulnerability. Her hands ball into tight fists in her lap, but she refuses to look out of control in front of him. If she had known that it was Yon-Rogg seeking her superhero services, she would have hesitated and maybe drank a little for good measure, but she would have still come—even if it was just to sit in front of him to prove that she had gotten better without him, “What do you want?”

Yon-Rogg fixes her with an indecipherable look before nodding, seemingly coming to terms with whatever remaining toxic Kree pride he has to request a favor, “I need your help.”

Carol rolls her eyes and its familiarly playful, “Obviously. Mind elaborating?”

He does a subtle survey on the civilians around them before leaning in closer, almost intimately, “I was recently selected to deliver cargo to… _buyers_ ,” He says the word “buyers” with such abhorrence that it strikes Carol. Kree are a passionate species regardless of their stance on how warriors should behave themselves, but she knows that this is about Yon-Rogg’st honor, not Kree beliefs. The knowledge that this has something to do with enslaved children resonates with her. She can’t be tied down to her past in this instance. He continues, “After some general inquiries, I found that the cargo in reference happened to be children. I…I don’t have the resources to take the operation down by myself.”

_How the mighty fall…_

“And I’m supposed to believe this?” Carol raises an eyebrow, accessing his reaction to her accusation.

Yon-Rogg straightens his posture, capturing her attention with his golden eyes, “I know I don’t deserve your trust, Ve—Carol. I know. And I’ve given you distance. I never sought you out—” Carol wants to ask him if believes he deserves a reward for never crossing her fiery path. She always assumed that she never encountered Yon-Rogg out of his absolute fear of her abilities, or maybe even shame. She hates to think that he has methodically been avoiding her out of the kindness of his heart. For her sake. She bites back a cold reply and listens to him grapple for her support, “—even when I wanted…Please put aside our grievances and help me. I have evidence.”

She considers his words, having already made her decision. Captain Carol Danvers had vowed to protect innocents—even when she bared the name Yon-Rogg assigned to her, even when she was the woman he preferred. If children were being sold off to the highest bidder for God only knows, then it was her sworn duty to interfere and protect them. Carol breathes, “Fine.”

-x-

Yon-Rogg is sitting at her kitchen counter, drinking the closest thing to coffee one could find in the masses of the universe without visiting C-53. His eyes are scanning a recent news report and he seems perturbed at best. Carol can fathom his dismay, also having grown weary of the news. The universe is infinite, and time has taught her that it is also filled with blind carnage. Especially lately. If Yon-Rogg didn’t need her assistance, she knows she would be fighting another battle elsewhere. For the last twenty years, her main focus has been the job. She saves as many people as possible, then moves forward. 

He acknowledges her presence by saying, “We are running low on protein.”

The odd domestic lull of the scene startles her. Back on Hala, she had once thought their lives would progress in this direction once she had established herself as an honorable and suitable partner. Their lives were so deeply entangled with one another that it would make sense, but even then, they were years away from settling down permanently. She hides her thoughts behind sarcastic humor, “We?”

He does not look away from the report, “You were the one that insisted we work from this piece of—”

“Because I can’t trust you,” Carol reminds him easily. With the complexity of the mission ahead of them, they needed to travel stealthily while they planned and acquired all possible information about the trafficking ring and its supporters. It meant nothing to free the children, only to have more rounded up and sold by the evils behind this atrocity (per Yon-Rogg’s reasoning). The auction takes place at the end of the month, roughly three weeks from now. As someone hired to deliver the slaves to their buyers, he has access to the timetable, but not much else. He's actively working on a lead. His presence within her home is only for the sake of the mission at hand. Two heads are better than one and all that jazz. Her assumption is that once the mission is completed and they have returned the victims back to their families, Yon-Rogg will leave and she will most likely never encounter him again.

Best not to make a habit out of this peculiar situation.

He doesn’t respond to her blow, which is to be expected. Instead, he clenches his jaw and returns his full attention to reading what seems to be a galactic crime report. Carol has many questions for him, but she has yet to ask them. She wants to know about his work as a mercenary, about his views on the Supreme Intelligence after all this time, and whether he has any regrets concerning his actions. Those topics are too hard to breach, so instead, she concedes, “Since you’ve done inventory, are we low on anything else?”

“Yes, whatever those little pieces were. They were quite delicious.” He waves his hand towards the trash can and Carol saunters over, confused. She finds the large, discarded orange bag of Reese’s Pieces. Carol Danvers is a sucker for sweets, but she prizes her Terran food above all others for the nostalgia of it. Typically, she hides her goods in her room but she left this particular bag on the kitchen counter last night by accident.

Carol narrows her eyes, fist heating up after days of small inconveniences and unspoken words. First he brought his primary weapons storage onboard. Carol could deal with that. Really, she could. But then he started judging her ship and commenting on her sleep schedule and her training exercises. This is the final straw. Quietly, she asks, “You ate my candy?”

“Candy?”

“ _My fucking candy!”_ Carol growls, but her words are not in her native tongue, rather in Kree. It’s been a while since she has spoken the language, and her tongue haphazardly skips over the pronunciation of everything but the expletive. Regardless of her clumsy speech, she has effectively earned Yon-Rogg’s attention. It’s a foolish thing to get so angry about, sure, but they both know that it’s not about candy at all. It’s about so much more. Her fists are glowing at this point and she’s ready to blast him into space but the knowledge that he won’t survive the vacuum prevents her from doing so. A pure _shame._

Yon-Rogg growls, eyes focusing on her hands, “Control it.”

She beats her obedience to plain ol’ submission and perhaps habit.

He stands, dismissing the report. He smooths out the invisible wrinkles in his civilian clothes with calculated motions. A knowing smirk plays on his lips, “Are you in need of a fight, Carol?”

“God, yes.”

She hates to admit it but he bested her more than once during their sparring.

He hadn’t lost his touch.

-x-

Her eyes are partially open as she communicates with Monica through her personal tablet. For the sake of privacy, she has retired to the comforts of her room to speak to her. Traveling in space, waiting for the next mission, often left her without a firm grip on time and more often than not, led to negligence on her part when concerning frequent communication with her loved ones. Monica is telling her about a _guy_ that she has a crush on, whether her niece is aware of it or not. The little girl she once knew has grown up to be a beautiful, intelligent woman. At thirty-four, she has taken the Carol Danvers approach to romance and completely disregarded it in the pursuit of her career.

But all that seems to be changing.

“And then we went for coffee, as friends of course.”

“Of course,” Carol smiles mockingly and is suddenly struck by the effects of time. Between her mutation via the lightspeed engine and her Kree blood, she hasn’t visibly aged at all. A part of her finds fault with the system, knowing that she will most likely look the same, even after their deaths. It makes her want to pause all of this superhero business so she can cherish the time she has left, but then would she be able to find peace? Could she relax knowing that families are being torn apart by things they can’t fight? There’s never been a version of her, human or Kree, that wasn’t trying to save the world. 

Monica rolls her eyes, not noticing her aunt’s shift in thought, “It’s platonic.”

Carol whistles, feigning a teasing giggle, “Right.”

“Aunt Carol, you’re—”

The metal doors to her room whoosh open and a shirtless, partially manic, Yon-Rogg steps inside with his tablet in his hands. Carol is only aware of his condition from the small window on her own tablet that shows her perspective. A fierce blush colors her cheeks as she realizes how the situation looks to her wide-eyed niece. At least Monica can’t see the whole of it. Carol isn’t wearing any pants, having kicked them off in the corner of the room. Her entire backside, and her pension for black underwear, was on display to Yon-Rogg, who clearly was unaware of his surroundings or just didn’t care. Carol watches in horror as his eyes scan over whatever he's reading. He speaks quickly, “I’ve found a lead. I need you to set the coordinates because you have me blocked from the system. _Still._ ”

“Is that a man?” Monica asks, accusingly. The sound of a stranger’s voice causes him to look at the scene before him. Monica takes out her phone and snaps a picture of the moment, presumably so she can show Maria hard evidence of Carol's rare indiscretion, “I can’t wait to tell mom about this.” Her niece starts furiously typing on her phone and Carol knows that Maria is going to freak the fuck out. Unlike Monica, Maria knows perfectly well who Yon-Rogg is and their weird and insane history.

Carol looks over her shoulder, glaring at him because he hasn’t bothered to apologize or excuse himself while she struggles to find words. He does not waver under her glare and she adds _boundaries_ to the ever-growing list of complaints she has against him as a roommate. Her voice sounds rough when she says, “It’s not what it looks like. I’m working on a mission right now.”

Monica whistles, just as Carol had done, “Right.”

“A mission that is underway and far more pressing than your Terran drama,” Yon-Rogg unhelpfully offers but she can see the flush of color on his cheeks and the heated darkness in his eyes. _Want,_ maybe. She dismisses the idea, assuming she’s projecting.

“I hate to admit it but he’s right. I’ve got to go,” Carol says quickly, apologetically, “Duty calls and all of that. I love you. Send my best to your mom.”

Monica’s eyebrows raise when her phone dings, “Hey, mom says that guy is—”

Carol ends the call and rolls over until she can get into a dignified sitting position, “You can’t knock?”

“It’s urgent.”

“Then, by all means, go ahead.”

His eyes trace over the flesh of her legs, and he tips his head to the side, “Can you get dressed?”

Carol watches him struggle with mild amusement, “Do you want me to?”

She tells herself that she would have made the joke with anyone. Anyone. It was too good of an opportunity to easily comply. Always the epitome of composure, the former Commander looks at her one last time, breath noticeably hitching. The fact that he’s considering it does nothing for her self-control or the inner war that’s been brewing since she accepted his request. The reminder that so much potential was left on the table after she defected burns in her throat.

And god, the deranged and probably unstable part of her mind, _misses_ all those possibilities that Hala offered her. It’s not the first time she has considered what it would have been like if she never retained her memories. Of course, she’s glad that she’s not serving a genocidal AI, but would she have been a great Kree warrior? Would she have bound herself to her closest friend, her anchor? Would they have kids by now?

“I will meet you upstairs,” He bites out, turning his back to her. The upstairs deck of her ship houses the command center and the controls, while the downstairs resembles more of a two-bedroom apartment. It’s not overtly homey, but it fits her personality rather well. The guest bedroom, which is only used in extreme cases, is practically bare, though, but that fits Yon-Rogg’s personality as well. 

She shakes the intruding thoughts away as she pulls on a pair of comfortable pajama pants with a titled beer logo on them. By the time she makes her way up the stairs, Yon-Rogg has pulled up the evidence they have compiled about the kidnappings and found a shirt. They’ve been tirelessly investigating for nearly two weeks now and they’ve had very little successful moments. They knew where the pick-up location was and the compound. More than once, Yon-Rogg had chastised her for wanting to bust in and release everyone due to the importance of the bigger picture. Carol understood the logic, but it was difficult knowing that people were generally suffering while they got absolutely nowhere.

“As you know, I’ve put a tracer on the transmission code that was used to issue my contract to monitor outgoing messages. They’ve just posted a link to their catalog to their buyers,” He says and pulls up the list of children that are being auctioned. Carol gasps, taking a step closer as she looks at the small faces before her. Most of the children seem to be of the same species. Carol’s never heard of Xartans before and makes a note to ask her partner once the main facts are out of the way, “I still can’t lock into _who_ is sending them, but we can track the buyers from here. I am hoping we can work backward.”

“We’ve got a little over a week to figure out how to topple this sick system. We’re running out of time.”

“I know,” He says, dejectedly, “If we do not handle this mission correctly, then the criminals will improve...we can't fail.”

Carol breathes, trying to clear her head, “Let’s start from the beginning. You were contacted through a coded transmission about a job.”

“Standard procedure for mercenaries.”

“And how did you discover that children were being sold?”

He sighs, having already explained this multiple times, “I don’t accept missions without knowing the facts. Past events have left me slightly distrustful of blind loyalty.” He’s never said that part before and it’s almost enough to distract her. Carol clears her throat uncomfortably while he continues to explain how he made the discovery, “I tracked the transmission and its recent contact list. Other mercenaries with horrid reputations.” He doesn’t comment on the fact that he was somehow included on the list. Carol wants him to because then she can comfort him. He is _not_ that disturbed. He doesn’t belong on a list with people that would willingly deliver children to cruel individuals for unknown reasons, “I started to discreetly ask around. You would say it was luck, the way I discovered the truth. It was from a chatty soldier that had done it before because of the _credits._ ”

“And then you made sure he couldn’t accept any other contracts. Discreetly, of course.”

“Yes.”

“Then?”

Yon-Rogg starts slowly pacing, eyes flicking up at the screens, “I accepted the contract. I was given a date, a time and a location. The general job description was categorized as cargo delivery. The original transmission went out to too many forces. I knew that I couldn’t do it alone. I knew, if I could make you understand, you would help.”

She continues where he left off, “Our initial plan was to rescue the victims outright, but we soon realized if we alerted anyone of our activities…so, we started looking for the owner of the ring. We know that it's someone well-connected. Hidden. We still don’t have a name or a face. We’re missing too many pieces of the damn puzzle.” Carol starts biting at her nails. It’s a nervous habit, one she solely reserves for hard missions. The fact that they’re _losing_ right now after so much time is getting under her skin. She wracks her brain for a new angle. Jesus, she’s not an investigator. She’s a fighter. A warrior.

Carol is so deep in thought that she doesn’t register that he’s in front of her. Gently, he grabs her wrist so she doesn’t further destroy the skin around her nails. The weight of his touch reminds her of the times that he cleaned the blood from her face post-match when she believed she was someone else, believed he was someone else. Someone worthy of her admiration and consideration. She meets his captivating eyes, only finding them so damn beautiful because of her recollection of human eyes. He concedes, “I am struggling with my emotions as well.”

His fingers smooth over her knuckles in a comforting gesture.

“What?”

“It is harder when children are involved. War has always been war, but to prey on purity... It’s abhorrent. Vile,” Yon-Rogg explains sadly, “It makes me angry, just as it makes you angry, and I am so proud of you for keeping your abilities in check.”

_Oh._

She wants to tell him that she doesn’t need his praise, but she can’t when it feels so good. Instead of saying something snippy, she asks, “What do you know of Xartans?”

“Xartans are a truly powerful species…their young aren’t nearly as capable as a Xartan of full maturity. An adult Xartan can shapeshift within seconds, as well as cloak themselves. They live for long periods of time. Thousands of Earth years.” He continues to stroke her hand, and she doesn’t pull away even though she should. She really should. “Most notably, Xartans can read minds and insert images into other’s minds through touch. Yet, all this comes with training and growth. Xartan children are significantly vulnerable at this age.”

“Many people are repulsed by shapeshifting,” Her point is not missed. The Kree focused much of their propaganda efforts on the fact that Skrulls could shapeshift. That being said, it was odd to hear that someone is directly seeking out slaves with such vast capabilities. Recalling her personal experience with being kidnaped, she discovers the missing piece. She breathes, “They’re selling weapons. The children are weapons.”

“There are so many flaws in that plan,” Yon-Rogg groans almost as if he is disappointed that the leaders of the trafficking ring aren’t strategical masterminds. Instead, they’re just criminals doing anything for a profit. She imagines it makes her and Yon-Rogg’s incompetence and lack of results far worse.

Carol breathes deeply, trying to find something comforting to say because she _wants_ to comfort him, “The universe is…can't you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The shift… I know you’ve been keeping up with the news. For months, I’ve been putting out fire after fire. Fuck, maybe it’s been years. I’ve lost track.” The intimacy of their position is not lost on her but she doesn't comment on it, “It’s not pragmatic, but people are looking for an edge to fight whatever is coming. Whoever is operating this ring is taking advantage of the darkness.” Carol feels like she has unlocked a major part of the case, but Yon-Rogg just stares at her with reserved emotion. They’re not closer to anything at all. She just has an inkling of motive. He releases her hand and turns back to the information in front of them.

“It’s not just Xartans. There are others with capabilities. We’re looking at a catalog of 26 children. Your ship, as charming as it is, can’t hold that many people. We need to find a larger vessel. I may have a location, but by the time we get there, we won’t have time for much else except returning to the compound…our plan to dismantle this organization is falling apart.”

“We can’t leave them there,” Carol says through tight lips, “We fight until the last minute to stop this…but we need a firm plan if this all goes to hell.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Hell?”

“Burning pit where you roast for all eternity for your sins at the hands of a fallen angel named Satan…or Lucifer, I think.”

He looks at her in horror.

“It’s a Terran thing.”

“I would hope so.” He exhales, “I need you to input the coordinates, _please_.”

She throws him a smirk, liking his attitude.


	2. the demons that can rest now

Objectively, it’s been a horrible day. 

Carol tries not to watch as her blood—their blood—leaves her body through the IV port haphazardly placed in the crook of her arm. Usually, the sight of blood doesn’t bother her but knowing that Yon-Rogg’s life is tethered to what she _may_ have remembered from basic training gives her pause.

He’s breathing again, at least. 

Yon-Rogg’s heart stopped. 

He was dead.

Gone.

All while she fumbled for supplies on their new, rundown ship after successfully piloting them to a temporary haven. Dead space, really, but the shields are up so they’re invisible for now. In a desperate attempt to revive him, she had to do something she vowed never to do again. She had to become weak.

Truthfully, Carol doesn’t feel too broken up about it now that she’s watching his chest rise and fall. 

She murmurs, “You’re an idiot” but there’s no sting behind her words. Yon-Rogg’s skin is a sickly color and it unnerves her. He still hasn’t woken, even with the influx of blood coursing through his system. She thinks he’s supposed to be awake by now, “Next time, you should let me lead, Commander.” 

Purchasing a ship large enough to transport their prospective passengers proved to be more difficult than expected. They had traveled beyond any standard grid system into outlaw territory to avoid suspicion and recognition. Carol never truly _liked_ the idea of venturing into deep space with Yon-Rogg because she still has a few unresolved fears; fear that he would kill her, that his newfound loyalty was a well-laid trap, and that he would abandon her. Still, a general lack of options prompted her to follow his lead into the abyss. 

They landed on a grimey planet that reminded her of Station 97-K times infinity. It wasn’t hard to find a black market trader, or a ship for that matter, because the place was overrun by criminals. Part of her still has questions about Yon-Rogg’s knowledge of the shithole, but she’ll save them for a later date. Yon-Rogg made it clear that money wasn’t an issue early on, which allowed them to streamline the process. She had given him an incredulous look the first time he announced that he was _loaded_ to a wide-eyed mouth breather named Lolan. Again, she tabled her curiosity because of their deadline. 

In her experience, the hero business doesn’t pay well. But, then again, Yon-Rogg doesn’t always play the part of hero. That’s what worries her. 

Yon-Rogg was handling the financials of it all while she parked her ship onboard the new vessel. In a way, their new ride reminds her of Mar-Vell’s lab but only because of the sheer size of it. Unsurprisingly, the Commander has done well. The rooms and facilities are drastically out of shape and need some major work before the vessel is fully habitable, but overall, it’s defied her expectations. 

She’d just jumped out of the vessel with a sly remark on her tongue when things went to shit. 

Simply put, someone recognized her. _Captain Marvel._ Yon-Rogg foolishly acted against all of his training. One minute, she was about to get hit by a blast that would feel like a _tickle_ and the next, she’s catching Yon-Rogg as he crumbles. Blood everywhere. He essentially took a bullet for her. 

From there it was a blur of adrenaline and action that she still hasn’t processed. Carol’s certain she killed people today but it happened so quickly that she’s not sure. 

Carol cards her fingers through his sweat-drenched hair, idly thinking she’s never seen him so devastatingly vulnerable. The sentiments she once carried for him stick in her throat, begging to be confessed in the metal confines of the ship’s medical facility. Looking back, she doesn’t know how she survived under the brutal expectations of the Kree Imperial. Not when she’s so damn human. She feels _everything._ A stray tear falls from her eyes and she brushes it back, frustrated by its existence. 

It’s not supposed to be like this.

Their future was put to bed a long time ago. 

“Out of all the people in the universe, it had to be you,” Carol hums dejectedly and repositions herself on the metal stool. Of course, she had to fall for the one person in the world that she can’t love. Yon-Rogg took her life. He played a part in her indoctrination. He traded the trust she gave him so hesitantly for favor with the Supreme Intelligence. There are hundreds of valid reasons why seeing him this way shouldn’t bring tears to her eyes. 

But she’s still crying. 

Carol caresses his cheek with her fingertips, fully aware that this might be the last chance she gets to touch him. They will part once their mission is fully completed and she’ll probably never see him again. Not in this lifetime. 

Unfortunately, she’s starting to feel dizzy but she’s not sure if it’s because of some sacred Kree bullshit about blood transfusions or because she’s simply given too much of herself. Carol withdraws her hand so she can remove the line, fully aware that it’s time to let go.

He groans in response to her movements, effectively startling her. 

Yon-Rogg hoarsely whispers, “Stay, Vers, please don’t leave me again.”

His eyes are still closed and she’s not even sure that he’s awake. Either way, she doesn’t bother to correct his use of her former name. Getting shot gives him some leeway. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Commander,” Carol says with faux-humor in her voice. She doesn’t want him to know that she’s been crying over him. Even more so, she doesn’t want him to hear the relief in her voice. It would make things more complicated than necessary and right now they need to focus on their mission, “How do you feel?”

He mumbles something incoherent, then says, “I’ve been better.”

Carol checks his sloppily bandaged wound as she lowly whistles, “You shouldn’t have tried to save me.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Yon-Rogg opens his heavy lids and fixes her with an indecipherable glare. After a moment, he indignantly huffs, “I could say the same to you.”

_Oh, Yon…_

He takes in her appearance and Carol knows she looks like hell. Her hair is a frizzy wreck and her clothes feel heavy. Her skin is covered in dry sweat, blue blood and tears. Yon-Rogg’s voice softens, “You’ve been crying. Please, don’t cry for me.”

Carol imitates a petulant child, rolling her eyes, “You can’t tell me what to do. I’ll cry over you if I damn well please.”

He introspectively hums, “I thought I’d lost your sympathy.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to his observation. Suddenly, she’s quite sad. Carol starts rambling to fill the silence, “Luckily the idiot that hit you had shit aim. You should be fine in a couple of days. You’re healing remarkably.”

He looks at his arm wistfully, eyes following the line that leads back to her. His eyebrows furrow for a second, but then he composes himself. Yon-Rogg’s haze returns to her face, “You can close the connection now.”

Carol makes quick work of detaching the IV from her arm. 

“You’re wearing an inhibitor?”

It was the only way she could save him. Carol keeps a few on her ship in case she’s dealing with any particularly nasty beings. The inhibitor she’s wearing now differs from her old one. This one wasn’t designed specifically for her. It only weakened the photon energy pulsing through her long enough to get a needle in her vein. 

She doesn’t tell Yon-Rogg how uncomfortable it makes her, but something tells her he knows. 

After a beat, she asks, “Thinking about taking me on? I’d still win.”

“Take it off.”

Carol swallows thickly, hating the way her body eagerly reacted to his order. She pushes back her hair and finds the ridges of the device in her neck. The inhibitor is fingerprint locked. Only the person that places it can remove it. She presses her index finger on its center. It glows red, then makes a hissing sound. 

Once removed, she places the inhibitor in his hand while meeting his eyes. He tangled their fingers together, the device digging into both of their palms. Her breath catches dangerously. There’s a lot left unspoken between them. 

Carol wets her lips, a myriad of ideas running through her head. Is this what she wants? 

_You have a mission…_

There’s too much tension in the room. 

Carol pulls away from him, “I need to do inventor—“

“I’m sorry,” Yon-Rogg says guiltily. 

She nods before leaving, “I know.”

-x-

Yon-Rogg defied her orders to stay in bed 12 hours after he was shot despite her rather colorful protests. His wound is healing remarkably, but he still winces every time he stretches. He’s reminded her more than once that he’s not fragile. Truthfully, everyone’s a little delicate in her eyes after all this time. Logically, she knows that he will be fine by the time they reach the compound. The fighter in her knows they’ll be victorious; that he’s almost completely healed and definitely still as bullheaded. It’s the other part of her that has all the grievances. 

They’re 62 hours away from the compound’s jump point. Their exhaustive efforts haven’t turned over any new leads about the operators of the trafficking ring, though, so the tension in the air is starting to sour. Yon-Rogg is frustrated with their lack of progress while Carol is simply facing reality. It’s not the first time she’s lost a fight. At least they still have the chance to save people. 

Carol’s got her foot propped up on the kitchen counter in _her_ ship. The last few days have been stressful and she really needs the familiarity. She’s been sifting through her messages for the last couple of hours. Dumbly, she’s hoping something will motivate her to forget about Yon-Rogg. Then again, she’s had decades to _forget_ about him and she’s never been successful. 

Her eyes burn from reading too many aid requests and state-of-the-union type reports from across the galaxy. War, death, injustice blossom on every viable planet as does unwarranted praise, propaganda, and bullshit. Still, in a few days (or hopefully _weeks_ ) she’ll have to sort through the pleas of scared people and prioritize their pain. The thought makes her tired. Captain Marvel doesn’t get breaks, though. If she randomly decides to relax or take a moment for herself and something _horrible_ happens, it’s her fault. That’s the basis of being a hero. 

Carol sighs and decides a change of location will help her clear her mind. A nice walk around the passenger ship should help. Typically, being ship bound makes her cranky, but it’s not like she can leave Yon-Rogg to fend for himself. He needs her right now. Plus, she’s been spending a significant amount of her time preparing the vessel for their little guests. For the most part, their unnamed ship is stocked with non-perishable items like bedding and random sets of clothes. Carol’s not completely sold on the sanitation of everything but they don’t have much of a choice. 

The plan is to stop for perishable items after the rescue mission. 

She keeps reminding herself that it’s only temporary but truly, she likes the idea of not being alone. 

Carol is not surprised when she finds Yon-Rogg in the makeshift gym. She hasn’t trained with him since he went against her rationality although she suspects he’s been trying to goad her into it. He’s been eating her candy again. 

He’s cooling down from his workout by meditating. Carol lets her eyes wander over his bare chest, if only for a minute. _Fuck, he’s still attractive. Kill me._ She brings her eyes back to his face, noting that he doesn’t look peaceful at all. She’s positive that his mind is not quiet. How can it be?

Carol calmly sits in front of him and imitates his position. She wants to tell him about yoga and it’s bastardization in pop culture, but she also doesn’t want to hear a lecture about the fundamental elements of being a good Kree soldier. Then again, she’s not sure where his philosophies lie these days. 

Yon-Rogg peers at her through squinted eyes, a smirk forming on his lips. He knows better than anyone that she lacks the ability to take part in an activity that requires silence. She was often scolded for her interruptions. He humorously asks, “Can I help you?”

“Have you lost your faith?” The question falls from her mouth before she fully processes the urge to ask it. Yon-Rogg looks at her apprehensively, fully opening his eyes in shock. Carol takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

His gaze turns soft, “Yes, I’ve lost my faith.”

“Because of me?”

“Because of you.”

Carol’s confused by the twinge of guilt she feels. It’s not so much for his beliefs, but because he lost a part of himself that he cherished. 

His words are tight and concise, “I discovered that it was manipulating me after I returned to Hala. It refused to show the correct form.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Every time I communed with the Supreme Intelligence, I saw myself. It told me I was incapable of love and admiration for another. My whole life, I believed it. I was a great soldier but my motivators were borne out of experimentation and neglect,” Yon-Rogg once again looks vulnerable, “I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

She scrunches her brows, trying to read between the lines. 

Her comms start beeping. 

It’s Maria. 

Yon-Rogg stands to leave, “It’s fine. Answer. I need to shower anyway.”

Carol stumbles over a response before she misses Maria’s call. She settles on, “It’s never too late, Yon.” 

-x-

“Something feels _off,_ ” Carol murmurs as she sips on the last bit of coffee she owns until her next trip home. She’s once again scrolling through a slew of reports from multiple intergalactic governments. The universe is filled with the usual morale killers, but she’s more focused on what’s _not_ there. “I don’t have a single report from the Nova Empire.”

Xandarians love to brag about their accomplishments and she’s been an ally for years. It’s unlike them to have gone this long without publishing positive press. Still, if they were in danger, someone would send out a distress single, right? 

Yon-Rogg considers her words from his position in the co-pilot’s seat, “That _is_ odd. They’re typically annoying.”

“What if we go—” Carol catches herself midsentence. They haven’t talked on a personal level since she interrupted his workout. Yon-Rogg has been trying to drill a game plan into her head for the last couple of days. Now, they’re six hours away from the jump and absolutely anxious. She’s trying to do whatever she can to curve off the nervous energy. But yeah, she wants him to stay. 

He can’t hide his Kree-bred arrogance at her slip, “We?”

Carol cruelly backtracks, slyly smirking, “I have to drop you off somewhere.”

Amused, he asks, “You would leave me stranded in Nova Empire territory?”

She winks at him, “Guess we’ll have to see.”

Yon-Rogg sighs, a smile on his lips, “After our mission is completed _we_ will go to Xandar.” 

-x-

Planet D-64 is home to a settlement of Xartans that wished to escape their government’s policies. It reminds her of the desert. The air is ridiculously dry and she hasn’t seen a tree in over nine miles. The passenger ship is parked away from the settlement because they did not want to alarm any residents. According to Yon-Rogg, fully grown Xartans can be exceptionally lethal. Add in the fact that their children were just kidnaped, things could turn bad quickly. 

Carol glances over her shoulder at the sullen children trailing behind her. Their faces have fattened up over the last couple of days now that they’re eating properly, but their spirits are incredibly low. She can’t imagine what they’ve been through or how scared they must be. She briefly meets Yon-Rogg’s eyes then turns around, a blush forming on her cheeks. 

_That’s new._

Breaking into the compound was easier than they expected, but it all boils down to luck. They were able to rescue all the children listed on the catalog as well as five more newcomers from a different planet in an entirely separate system. The exchange made their guards careless. They weren’t prepared for someone like Carol to ruin their big day. Additionally, they foolishly kept fantastic records. Everything from origin planet to the exact spot they kidnaped the children from was listed in their databases. 

Her only regret is they didn’t act sooner. 

She huffs as a bead of sweat gets in her eyes, “Are we there, yet?”

A little girl named Galek beams up at her, “A mile or so, just over that ridge.”

Galek is the most positive person she’s ever met. More than anything, she’s excited to be reunited with her older sister. It’s all she’s talked about since they rescued her, actually. Carol’s attached to the child, against her better judgment. She reminds her of Monica when she was young and fascinated by everything the world had to offer. She can’t help but feel a little sad that goodbye is just over the ridge. 

Yon-Rogg laughs under his breath from behind her, “Impatient as ever.”

Carol rolls her eyes, “Like you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

“I know how to control myself.”

She snorts and looks up at the sky as a soft breeze breaks through the heat. Carol hums, “It is kinda beautiful here.”

“Vers, something’s wrong.”

Carol turns quickly, worry seeping through her. She’s never heard him talk like that before. Yon-Rogg’s panicked expression makes her heart stop. Some of the children have disappeared. Did someone take them?   
_  
What the fuck?_

“What--” She watches his expression distort. Pain. Guilt. Worry. Acceptance. Instinctively, she cups his face as it thin lines start to break across it. He’s falling apart like a sandcastle. Foolishly, she entertains the idea that she can hold him together. She pleads, “Please, Yon-- _Yon._ No, stay with me. Please don’t leave me.”

_Please. Please. Please._

There’s a soft certainty swimming in his gilded eyes. He’s reached a conclusion that she’s unable to face. He firmly says, “I love--”

And then he crumbles. 

Like dirt.

Like dust. 

Irrationally, she turns to the children as if they’ll have answers but she finds herself alone. Completely, utterly alone. 

_But, I love you, too.  
_

Carol croaks, “Please.”  
  
Maybe to God. Maybe to the universe itself. 

Her comms start to beep insistently. 

_Fury._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Sorry, it took me so long to update. I really expected to get this part finished a week ago but life happened. For starters, my dog died which was really heartbreaking on multiple levels. And now, due to the coronavirus chaos, I have to pack up and leave school. :( Although this isn't a cheerful chapter, I hope it provides some distraction from the real world like it's done for me. 
> 
> Reviews and encouraging comments always appreciated :)
> 
> Thank you for reading,
> 
> Norvina

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be totally upfront...I wrote this to cry. I'm still actively working on Burden of Time. I actually started this fic first and just never posted it. I feel like it's important to give fair warning for what's about to happen, though, so you have the chance to jump ship before this gets dark.


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